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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25200763">Heart Of The Country</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nukacolash/pseuds/nukacolash'>nukacolash</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Beatles (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Animals, Anxiety, Cabin Fic, Canada, Dogs, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heartache, Light Angst, Loneliness, Missing Persons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, POV Third Person Limited, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sledding, ok it's basically just cabincore paul in canada, previous tag is just for a scene in ch.2 :flushed:, sled dogs, travelling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:55:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,140</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25200763</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nukacolash/pseuds/nukacolash</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>March, 1965. Paul has had enough of fame and fortune and goes to Canada to start a new life. How will the world react to his sudden disappearance?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>George Harrison &amp; John Lennon &amp; Paul McCartney &amp; Ringo Starr, Jane Asher &amp; The Beatles, Jane Asher/Paul McCartney, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. An Idea In The Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Paul lay in his bed, his brow furrowed. Brian wanted them to do even more tours for the remainder of the year, when they already had a movie to finish. When would he catch a break? He wanted to be able to live life, to enjoy the beauty of the natural world. Not have to deal with hoards of raving teenage girls and the exhaustion of running from said teenage girls. Could they even hear the band over all the screaming at this point? Probably not. He slumped into his bed, unsure of what he could really do about it. He couldn’t just leave, could he? He has responsibilities, despite how annoying some of them may be. He sat up quickly, a new idea in his head. He winced a little when he heard Jane shuffle in her bed. He had to be quiet. His brain quickly rushed back to the thought before. He could actually do just that, however impulse driven it might be. </p><p>He could leave the life of fame behind. He grinned like a kid at Christmas, only to realize, how would he do that? He fell onto his back again, pondering that. The guys wouldn’t just let him leave the band. He’s their friend, their bassist, their “cute Beatle.” They need him, right? He brushed that aside, he shouldn’t have to deal with the pain of fame if he didn’t want to. They could thrive without him, they’re the Beatles for christ’s sake! Where would he go though? He looked at the ceiling, trying to think of a place. Where could he be truly free from the exhaustion of fame? He gazed out the window when a name suddenly popped into his mind. Canada. He could go to Canada. He remembered it from when they were touring around and felt happy even thinking about being there again. That’s it then, he thought giddily, that’s where he would go. </p><p>He quickly shuffled up to grab his suitcase, trying his best to be quiet. He opened it to see what he had for clothes. It seemed it was packed full though most were somewhat musty. It seems that he’d forgotten to take them out when the last tour ended. Unlike him, sure, but not unheard of. He’d have to leave them though. Musty, nasty clothes don’t really get you far, right? He looked in his closet, pulling out new clothes silently to shove in the case. When he was satisfied with his clothing options, he looked towards the wall above his bed. There rested photos of him, the band, Mal, Neil, Eppy, Jane, his family and his father. His gaze softened as he looked at the pictures of him with his mother and father. The last time he saw his father was a week ago. It’d been years since he saw his mother. Would it be like losing Mary if Paul suddenly disappeared? He never wanted his father to have to feel that heartache again. Doubt filled his mind. Should he really go? Sure, he might be happier but was that more important than his friends? His family? He really didn’t know, so he pushed it to the back of his mind. No need to worry about it now, he decided. </p><p>He felt another pang of sadness as he tucked the photos into his suitcase gingerly. He grabbed his acoustic guitar, shoving it under his arm. He looked around his and Jane’s room, realizing this would be the last time he’d ever be in, let alone see it again. There were good memories here, ones he’d hopefully never forget. Him and Jane in the twilight hours of the night chattering like starlings. Him and John preparing to write a new song. Him getting ready to go out for a night with his friends. Before he stepped outside of his room though, he crept towards Jane. He put his luggage down gently, bending down to give Jane a kiss on the cheek. She smiled in her sleep, turning towards the wall silently. He smiled back, though she’d never see it or him again. He stepped out the door of his room quietly, so as not to wake Jane, or her parents, up. He crept down the stairs quietly, going towards the front door. The door that would lead to the rest of his life. </p><p>He hadn’t been as quiet as he thought he had been, however. Jane had heard him go outside.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hoped you like it :, ) i feel like it's too short though, everyone else's chapters are usually like at least 1000 words :(</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Plane To Tomorrow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>paul go vrRrRR nERERNERNENRERRR vroOOOOM (beta'd by EmSheshan)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was cold, he realized, as he stepped outside, guitar in hand. He wished he had worn a coat; his pajamas weren’t really cutting it. He shivered and walked to his car, his suitcase trailing behind him. He shoved his luggage in the car, got in the front seat, and drove down the road, trying to remember the way to the airport. As he moved along, his mind wandered. When had fame started to become draining? Had it always been? He looked through his memories for an answer, his finger absentmindedly tapping on the steering wheel.<br/>
He stopped at a light, sighing as he got his answer. It always had been, hadn’t it? On one side, the love from your fans, the sex, the parties. Ah, there’s always the other side though. Not being able to go outside, girls pounding at your door at 3 am, the drugs. Just goes to show with soaring highs come crushing lows. It wasn’t really worth it in the end, right? He heard a honk, having not noticed that the light was green. He drove ahead hastily, somewhat embarrassed for not moving on time. Must have somewhere to be to be driving at 2 am on a Wednesday. He brushed his hair out of his face, taking a deep breath. He realized that despite what he’d told himself at home, his friends would need him, at least in some way. Should he really go? He looked ahead at the road, unsure of what he should really do. As he turned on the radio, he was blasted with songs from the band’s latest album.<br/>
He suddenly got overwhelmed with the urge to cry, the need to turn back home and forget he ever got this far. But he couldn’t bring himself to. The loss of his own damn privacy was something he wouldn’t stand for. He quickly turned off the radio, driving the rest of the way in silence. Luckily, there weren’t many people at the airport, if the lack of cars outside was any indication. He looked around in his car for something to hide his face with, finding a pair of sunglasses and a beanie. He froze as he reached for the glasses though. They were John’s, his signature on the inside. He almost didn’t want to take them, fearing that John might need them. But then he remembered, he would never see him again. So did it really matter if he took them? He took the sunglasses, adding them to his outfit, which just made him look like a hippie on vacation.
 It was pitch black outside, so he couldn’t really see anything as he clambered out of the car, but at least no one would recognize him. He shuffled somewhat blindly into the airport, guitar and suitcase in hand. He looked through scheduled flights, seeing one departing for Canada. Thinking it said Toronto, he bought his ticket. The flight attendant was a bit disbelieving as he handed her his ID. Couldn’t blame her though, if some random bloke came into the airport at 2 am with a passport that says he’s THE James Paul McCartney, that’d definitely be a bit strange. He went over to the waiting area, picking up a magazine to read while he waited. “WHICH BEATLE ARE YOU?” read the cover, with a picture of the lads on it. Paul rolled his eyes from under his sunglasses, opening to the first page. He took the quiz, incredibly bored at the questions.<br/>
“Who’s your favourite Beatle?” piped a taunting, slightly annoying, voice, coming from behind his magazine. He put it down to see a teenage boy, no older than 14, looking at him mockingly.<br/>
“What?” Paul asked, tired.<br/>
“I said, who’s your favourite out of the twats in that bleedin’ boy band? My da’ says they’re a bunch of queers!” The boy laughed, seemingly enjoying his own bad attempt to be funny.<br/>
Paul pulled down his sunglasses, staring at the boy. He saw his eyes go wide with the sudden realization that he just shit talked Paul McCartney, to his face no less.<br/>
“I- Oh, I’m sorry Mr. McCartney!” The boy said, scrambling away quickly. Someone really needs to teach that kid manners, huh? He grimaced slightly. People like that are just another reason for him to leave.<br/>
He put the newspaper down, instead opting to sit in his chair bored out of his mind. He stared at the carpet, trying to make patterns out of the nothingness, as his mind started to drift. He began nodding off, his head dipping further each time. His seat felt much more comfortable than it had seemed a minute ago. Would it really hurt just to rest his eyes for a moment? It’s not like he’d fall asleep. He was much too focused for that, he thought as his eyes rested on the carpet, unfocused. It’d only be for a moment…<br/>
He woke up 40 minutes later, the static of the airport intercom disrupting his slumber. He looked around, yawning as he gained his bearings again. The airport attendant at the door was calling out boarding passes. Paul smiled a little. It seemed even when he was asleep, he still managed to be on time. He got up out of the seat, gathering his belongings and putting back on his “disguise”, which had seemingly started to fall off in his sleep. He still couldn’t see for shit with the dark shades on, but he tried his best to reach the boarding zone. Luckily for him, there still weren’t many people to recognize him in the airport. He waited in what little line there was, which didn’t take very long. He walked up the attendant from before, handing her his ticket. The attendant looked at his ticket again, the quiet mutters from her evident disbelief that she didn’t believe he was really Paul McCartney. She double-checked everything just to make sure, giving a suspicious glance at Paul before signaling he was free to continue. As he boarded the plane, he lowered his sunglasses and winked in her direction. He laughed as he walked through the tunnel, the attendant’s embarrassed face still fresh in his mind. John would have loved that, though Jane probably wouldn’t. He stopped laughing as he remembered that he’d never be able to see John laugh at his jokes, nor vice versa. He wouldn’t get to piss Jane off and make it up ever again. Never again would there be a snarky remark from George. No more kindhearted quips from Ringo, either. He sighed, not for the first time that night and probably not the last either. He shouldn’t do this, he couldn’t do this. But he had to, right? It was good to get away, to stay away forever, if it meant something better might come. But what if nothing good came? Paul was starting to freak out a little, suddenly terrified at the idea that nothing positive would happen. You’ll know when you get there, you’ll know when you get there, he told himself again and again. Calm down Paul, calm down. It’s okay. He took in deep breaths, somewhat regaining his neutral composure.<br/>
In his panic, he hadn’t noticed that he’d frozen in place. The few people boarding the plane with him looked behind their shoulders to see what all the fuss was. He could almost picture their thought process. Why was the young man boarding with them suddenly frozen and hyperventilating? Maybe it was drugs, some thought. Maybe it was a fear of heights, thought others. Who really cares though? You always find the weird people at the airport, especially at such an hour as this. The people in front of him just turned around after a few seconds, content with never knowing what the problem was. Paul decided it might be best to not freak out again, he didn’t need the extra attention at this time. That could be done later, as there were more important things to be done, Paul reasoned. He got in his seat, his luggage stored above his head. He couldn’t help it as his foot bounced, his brain firing faster than he thought was humanly possible. It was a smooth takeoff, the plane going steadily on its merry way to Canada. Paul closed his eyes sometime during the flight, his quiet snores the music of his travels.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hoped you like it uvu</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>beetle go canada vrrr</p></blockquote></div></div>
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